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I hope you have enjoyed this small glimpse into our past. There

were only 4 installments of the Khaki Kate Kaleidoscope story, so it

is copied in its entirety.

With Kindness, Heather Nacke State Historian 2015-2017

Notes:

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KHAKI KATE, KALEIDOSCOPE

EXERPT FROM CROSS KEYS

September & December 1915

March & June 1916

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[Note: The editor launches the first chapter of this story with the hope that in the title and the character of the her-oine you may discover the essence of K K K. The plan is to continue the story in several installments, each one of which will be written by a different chapter of the fraterni-ty.]

CHAPTER 1

“Ten o’clock! And a light up at Sally Raymond’s yet,” whispered Mrs. Smith to her husband as she returned from investigating a noise in the chicken lot. “I do wonder what can be the matter.” But Sam only snored again and there the matter rested for no one else in the village was up late enough to notice the light or to know that excitement there was up at old “Aunt Sally’s.” In her house the old lady was hustling around, muttering to herself as she put fresh sheets on the four-poster in the extra bedroom or looked to see that the coffee on the big kitchen stove didn’t boil over. Occasion-ally on the excursions from the front to the back of the house, she would pause with her hand to her ear and lis-ten carefully. At last as she noticed the hand of the grandfather’s clock point to eleven, she caught the distant rumble of a train and, flushing with excitement, took off her gingham apron thus disclosing a dainty white one tied over her black dress. Patting this smoothly down, Aunt Sally slipped into the front room where she sat on the edge of a chair with folded hands—waiting. “What was she like, this newcomer,” she thought. “And what a change had been brought into her own life by

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former course. There was silence for a while then Philip broke it by saying, “If I could just feel that I wasn’t wholly responsible for Sallie's death.” “Uncle Philip, you weren’t—any other shock might have killed her as easily. The doctor told her to be always very careful.” Nothing more was said for a time and only the movement of Kate’s rocking chair broke the stillness. “Kate, tell me about Sally since you have known her.” He listened intently while Kate told him of the good times she and Aunt Sally had had together, and how good she had been to her. When she had finished Philip re-mained silent. Finally, Kate could stand it no longer and burst out, “Uncle Philip, it can’t be helped and what is the use of brooding over it? Aunt Sally would be the first to say so if she were alive. Why don’t you brace up and spend your time showing these people in Kentonville that you are not what they think you—” In her excitement she had for-gotten that she was talking to an older person, a man of the world at that, and she stopped almost as suddenly as she had begun. Her very vehemence, however, had aroused Philip and gazing at her in an interesting way he said quietly, “Kate, your advice is good and I’ll follow it. As you say, the more I think the worse it seems and I have been selfish in giving way so completely,” and with a courteous “goodnight” he was gone to his room.

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“Good morning,” said Kate brightly. “I hope you found everything comfortable.” “Yes, indeed, Miss Kate, perfectly so,” was the an-swer, in a courteous but saddened manner. Breakfast was very silent, one or the other making a remark now and then about the beauty of the morning, or on some trivial subject. Kate was rather glad when it was over and she felt the strain and knew that Philip must also. She couldn’t help but see that he was grieving dreadfully, and she would have liked to comfort him, but knew it would be best to say nothing. Philip walked up and down the room a time or two and finally remarked, “I believe I will go for a walk,” and without waiting for an answer was gone. Lunch time came and no Philip. “Shall we wait?” asked Mrs. Perkins. “No,” answered Kate, “he would prob-ably not want us to.” “Kate,” said Mrs. Perkins, “just what do you think of that man, anyway?” Kate looked thoughtful for a moment and then re-plied. “Well, I haven’t just made up my mind, but I think that he has been misjudged, because I can’t seem to pic-ture him the sort of man others do.” “Anyhow,” said Mrs. Perkins, “he feels badly over the death of his sister and that is one thing in his favor, at least.” This ended the subject. Philip returned late in the afternoon looking very tired, but the strained look was, in a measure, gone from his face. Kate was calling in the village, but had left an ap-petizing lunch for him, to which he did justice. That evening after dinner Philip sat on the porch smoking his cigar. Kate was undecided whether or not to sit with him or leave him alone; but finally decided on the 3

that brief morning telegram from the city? But surely it was a change for the better, for she needed someone to give her a different outlook on life, old as she was, and keep her from becoming too ‘set in her ways’.” The sound of an approaching vehicle stopped her meditation and she rose to open the door. The broad beam light from the hanging coal oil lamp fell on a rusty, rickety spring-wagon from which alighted a slight girlish figure. Aunt Sally muttered to herself, “I ‘spose that’s old Jem March. Nobody else would be out to meet the night train. I must scold him for the way he left here last week without finishing his work.” She started down the steps, but just then the stranger girl turned to smile at the driver and thank him for bringing her. As the light fell on her profile and bright hair a miracle happened. To the old lady’s eyes, Jem March sat straighter on his seat, radiating pleasure; with hands steady and eyes no longer shifty, he met her look squarely. She found her tongue tripping and herself say-ing, “ Why, good evening, Jem! Much obliged for bringing me a welcome load. When are you coming back to finish the work you began so well?” And Jem did not even look surprised, but answered, “Why, any time you say, Aunt Sally. Just let me know. I must be goin’ now. I’ll come around tomorrow to see you.” “All right,” said Aunt Sally, as she took her guest by the hand and led her into the house. Once inside, she did what she’d almost forgotten to do, kissed the girl soundly on both cheeks and looked her over with kindly inquiry. What she saw rather took her

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breath, though she tried not to show it. A tam o’shanter of khaki tilted on flaming red hair surrounding a peaked little freckled face, out of which peered two great brown eyes; and a slender figure in a Norfolk khaki suit. “Well”, thought Aunt Sally, “it won’t be many days till I get rid of that ugly rigging? That’s no dress for a young lady.” But aloud she said, “ Come dearie, you must be hun-gry. Let’s have a little lunch and then get to bed.” And they did so, wasting few words in the process, for that was the young lady’s way. The sun rose next morning on a village agog with cu-riosity, for Mrs. Sam Smith had told of the light burning so late at Aunt Sally’s and Jem March had bragged of hauling a passenger from the eleven o’clock train. But no one dared to risk the sharpness of Aunt Sally’s tongue by ven-turing any questions. At last, however, Tilly Green went over to borrow some cinnamon for her apple tarts and in-cidentally to gather some information. As Aunt Sally saw her coming, she whispered under her breath, “There’s that old ‘cheapskate’ coming to bor-row again, and I’ll warrant she wants to find out some-thing, too. But we’ll see to that!” Then, once more to her surprise, Aunt Sally’s tongue played her false for, as she stepped to the door, she saw Tilly past the profile and bright hair of the girl who was there before her, smiling, and said, “Good morning, Tilly! Glad to see you. You’re in time to be the first to greet my grandniece from the city.” When she had said it. Aunt Sally looked reproach-fully at Kate as if to say, “What did you do that for?” But Kate in all innocence was quietly making friends with Tilly. And the latter looking past her, thought she’d never seen 21

Kate jumped up eagerly, “Certainly we can. Aunt Sallie’s room is—” He stopped her with a shuddering gesture. “No, “ he cried, “any place but that. I—- I am not superstitious, but she would haunt me—I know it!” Kate realized that in his present unnerved condition, a night spent in Aunt Sally’s room would be conducive to anything but restful slumber, if, indeed, he could sleep any place. “Very well, Uncle Philip,” she acquiesced, “I will take her room and you shall take mine.” Stopping his protests with a gesture, Kate left to pre-pare her room for the reception of the guest, and after re-moving her own few necessary belongings to Aunt Sally’s old room, she returned to Philip and informed him that his room was ready. Picking up his suitcase, he followed her upstairs, and after bidding her goodnight, entered the room and closed the door.

CHAPTER 4

It was almost impossible for Kate to go to sleep; thinking over the whole situation made her head whirl. What was to become of her now that Philip had re-turned? Was he the sort of man people seemed to think, or a good one as her instinct told her? Finally, she gave up in despair deciding that the best way was to let matters take their course. Philip came to breakfast the next morning looking as though he had had very little rest, either physically or mentally.

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something, but the words refused to come. His arraign-ment of Kentonville had neither surprised nor shocked her, for she knew that he spoke nothing more than the truth. Loving Kentonville and its people who had been so good to her, as she did, she had not been able to blind her eyes to certain glaring effects in the municipal character. Philip’s words were a revelation in one respect, however, for awhile she had recognized the shortcomings of the village, she had never been able to assign a cause. It was Puritan-ism in its worst form. That Philip spoke the truth in relation to himself she never for one moment doubted. There could be no ques-tioning his sincerity. This made it somewhat embarrassing for Kate. Her sense of justice would not permit her to leave Philip undefended, and yet to champion him, she re-alized only too well, meant forfeiting the esteem of the community, thus destroying her power for good. Then with the optimism of youth, she decided to leave the solution of the problem for the morrow, and turned her attention to the present. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Uncle Philip!” She exclaimed contritely, “I forgot to ask you to have something to eat. Your must be hungry after your long journey.” He shook his head. “Thank you, child, I ate on the dining car.” He laughed bitterly. “But even had I not done so, I don’t think that I should be able to eat much now.” “Then would you care to retire?” Kate asked anx-iously, “a night’s rest will do you good.” He arose wearily from his chair. “Perhaps it would be best, provided you can accom-modate me.” 5

Sally so friendly and agreeable. That first day was only a beginning in that village. Where neighbors had been stingy or grouchy or lazy, they now appeared in a new light. Good qualities appeared so strong that they overshadowed all others. None of the vil-lagers seemed to realize the change or its cause, but an observing outsider would have noticed that when Khaki Kate smiled into a human face, no other person uttered any but words of consideration. She seemed herself to serve to them as a kaleidoscope, to transmit light and col-or in forms of beauty. Nothing concerning who she was or from where she came was known in the village. Aunt Sally herself knew little except that she was the daughter of a nephew of hers who had disappeared long years ago and that her coming Kentonville had been heralded only by a telegram from officials of an orphans’ asylum. The girl had been christened Kate, but in her new home was now in a friendly teasing spirit dubbed “Khaki Kate.” For she never appeared in any dress but her Norfolk suit of that material. Nor would the girl give a reason for this when persistently urged by Aunt Sally, who worried much over the fact that the pretty white and blue dresses she had made remained unworn. Though Aunt Sally at last grew almost angry, the neighbors became accustomed to and welcomed the brown shadow which fell across their doorsteps so often. And Kate herself only laughed when she realized that she was no longer addressed by any name but “Khaki Kate.” Several months passed during which the girl and Aunt Sally were very happy together. Through the younger member of the household, the old lady had learned to see that many of her “humdrum” neighbors were really lovely

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and lovable characters; and all their deeds and sayings transformed themselves into rays of pleasant influence. One day Aunt Sally herself laughingly called Kate to her side and said, “At last I know what you are. You’re one of those things like Mary Munson got for Christmas last year—kaleidoscope, that’s it! You show up the broken pieces of different-shaped glass in such beautiful lights that we want to look and look, just as the child does.” And Aunt Sally, pleased at her own sharpness, kissed Kate and continued: “Why, there’s Jem March. He’s like a piece of bro-ken glass, isn’t he? And he is not much different from oth-er human beings, for we are all at times more transparent than we would be, and are all more or less broken on the wheel of fortune. Well, I have forgotten his drunkenness and see only his truthfulness, that’s the blue light; and his love for little children, that’s the rosy light; and his repent-ance and shame, that’s the violet. Oh, I have it all worked out, you see. And just because of looking through your ways and words!” Kate answered her effusiveness with a humble, “Oh, you give me too much credit,” and a kiss to stop her mouth. It was well that Aunt Sally spoke when she did for, as is usual in human history, a change was in store which would break the happy live the two were leading; and Kate would never have known what her presence had done for the old great-aunt. That evening about nine o’clock there came a knock at the door. It was a young man, who when his summons was answered, handed in a note addressed to Aunt Sally. In great surprise she took it and as she read, paled quickly and then sank back into her chair, crying, “O, Kate!” 19

“With these people the way of life, the real life in the world beyond this valley was the way of sin. Their own sins which were not few, were the sins of the Godly, conse-quently no sins at all, merely practices sanctified by long usage. As their fathers did, so did they, and to hint that their fathers were wrong was a sacrilege.” “You can imagine the chance such a boy as I had in this village, a boy of lively spirit, who revolted against the restrictions which were placed upon him as naturally as he drew breath. Because I refused to follow the old customs; because I refused to narrow my horizon; because I refused to think and act as those about me acted and thought, and as their fathers had done from time immemorial, I became an outcast, a heretic, a rebel against all that was good and holy.” He slowly turned his head and looked at her. “Doubtless you think I ramble. Perhaps I have not made my case as clear as I might. Perhaps I should give you something more specific, mention individual acts which made me what I am, so far as Kentonville is con-cerned. But at God is my judge, I cannot, for there is no single act of mine which I can call to memory, which would stand out to condemn me. It was general. I was misun-derstood, and because misunderstood, mistrusted.” “I have said that I seemed to possess a diabolical in-genuity for getting in wrong. Yet, sometimes I wonder if after all it was my fault, or the fault of my surroundings. During the years that I have been away from Kentonville, it has not seemed to me that I was more prone to error than other men. The most serious charge that can be laid against me is the death of my sister.” The sense of his loss appeared again to rush over him, preventing him from proceeding. Kate longed to say

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Philip relaxed in his chair and smiled cynically. “I thought so.” After another moment’s silence, he demanded ab-ruptly: “Did you believe what they told you?” “They didn’t say much,” Kate replied defensively, “and I neither believed nor disbelieved—I didn’t know.” “Well,” he remarked, “that is some comfort. At least I can plead my cause before one unprejudiced court. Do you mind smoking? I have received such a tremendous shock, that I mush have something to steady my nerves.” “Oh no,”eturned quickly, “not in the least.” He drew a cigar from his pocket, bit off thte end, placed it between his lips and lighted it. He puffed away for several moments, his eyes fixed moodily on the danc-ing flames in the open grate. Then he uttered a deep sigh and began to speak: “As I have already told you, it has seemed my fate from earliest childhood to be eternally in hot water. Every-thing I did was wrong. All my acts were misunderstood and the very worst possible interpretation placed on them. It seemed that I could never utter the most innocent re-mark that it was not twisted out of all semblance of its real meaning and to my injury. As a child I was an incorrigible brat, and as a young man, everything that bigoted preju-dice could call me. The people here could never under-stand me, and what they could not understand, they con-demned. “When the founders of Kentonville came, they brought with them all the worst features of the intolerance of old Puritan New Englind. That spirit has never died out, and it exists today as much as the only heritage received from a people, who through narrow and bigoted, yet pos-sessed some of the highest qualities possible to the race.” 7

Kate ran sobbing to her, but the young man, step-ping inside, tenderly and calmly lifted the old lady to a couch. When Kate, depending on his assurance and strength, looked at him wonderingly, he said, slowly, “It’s too bad, Khaki Kate, but your Aunt Sally is dead!”

CHAPTER 2

“No, she can’t be dead,” sobbed Kate as she knelt by the side of the lifeless form and tried to rub warmth into her hands. “I will run for the doctor though I’m sure it’s no use” offered John (for the young man was John Morgan, a nephew of lawyer Clinton’s with whom he was studying law and from the time of Khaki Kate’s arrival in the village, one of her staunch and loyal admirers). With sympathy in his eyes he turned from the grief stricken girl and as he hurriedly picked up his cap and started for the door, he added, “That note was enclosed in a letter which came to Mr. Clinton, the old family lawyer—it must have been aw-ful bad news.” Paying no attention to what John was say-ing or doing, Kate crouched on the floor where she had dropped beside her aunt, her bright red hair buried in her arms, and in the sorry little heap, one could not recognize the joyful loving, bright-eyed Kate. After a few minutes of mental numbness, all at once she remembered the note which had brought such havoc into her home. Quickly she rose to look for it and discov-ered that it was tightly clutched in her aunt’s stiff hand. She loosened the fingers and began to unfold the crum-

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pled note-paper but numerous questions arose in her heart—what could it contain—what right had she to thus pry into the affairs of this aunt, whose life she had only known so recently—could there be a secret in the past life of this eccentric woman, who, though hostile toward all her village world, had been so kind to a homeless girls and had learned to love others through that girl. While questioning in this manner, the note still un-folded, John returned with the doctor and the coroner. With a kindly nod to Kate they stepped past her and began their examination of Aunt Sally. Abruptly the coroner turned toward Kate and reached out his hand, saying, “I’d like to read that note.” Khaki Kate, started, her brown eyes wide with fear and horror, hesitated for an instant as if about to refuse this request, then reluctantly handed the note over. Keen-ly alert now, she noticed the hardening of the features as the coroner read, and the sadness that crept over the face of the old family physician as he shook his head slowly and muttered, “Too bad, too bad! And we had all hoped that he was dead these many years.” “Dear Khaki Kate,” he said aloud, turning toward the girl, “your aunt is past all human help. Her death was the result of heart failure—she has received a very great shock.” Supposing that Kate already knew the contents of the fatal note, Doctor Scott gave it back to her, laid his hand upon her shoulder and gently told her that she must be very courageous and keep the big kindness in her heart that had made her so loved by all tin the village. Just then the neighbors began to come in to offer their help and comfort. Kate slipped the note into her Norfolk pocket, answered all their questions calmly and in 17

herself for the unwilling part she was playing in the torture of a human soul. At last the story was done and they sat in silence for some time. As for Mrs. Perkins, she sat like a graven im-age, but an image with remarkably wide open ears and eyes. Nothing escaped her and each scrap and shred of the conversation between Kate and Philip was treasured up in her memory for future retailing. After what seemed an age to Kate, Philip broke the silence: “Did you read the letter?” “Yes,” returned Kate, then hastened to add, as if she feared he would think her of a crying disposition, “I held it for a long time, in doubt whether to read it or not, but after several days, I concluded that perhaps it would be best for me to know everything possible, that I might be able to act intelligently. He nodded his head. “You did quite right—quite right,” he repeated, then asked: “Did anyone else read it?” Kate hesitated, then answered, “Yes.” He straightened up in his chair and demanded: “Who?” “Dr. Scott and the Coroner.” “The Coroner? Who is the Coroner?” There was an angry note in his voice. Half afraid, Kate answered: “Dr. Weldon.” He uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “Then I suppose in addition to the pleasant tiding contained in my letter, you have probably heard verbal re-ports concerning me scarcely to my advantage or credit.” Kate did not answer. Dr. Scott’s words when he had read the note recurred to her.

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she willfully misunderstood, unwilling to lose anything of a scene which promised so much in the way of gossip later on, for though a good woman in most respects, she pos-sessed in no small measure, a by no means uncommon failing in Kentonville, a proneness to discuss the intimate affairs of her neighbors. Kate shrugged her shoulders in despair, and said nothing. She realized only too well that a direct request to withdraw would be resented bitterly, and the result might possibly be disastrous. Mrs. Perkins had already seen and heard too much, and there was no telling what her fertile imagination might add to what she actually knew. It would be far better, perhaps, to let her remain and hear the matter out. Then again, the truth might tend to help Phil-ip. Kate seated herself near him and sat watching his face intently. Half unconsciously, she was studying him, trying to reconcile his appearance with the somewhat vaguely expressed evil reports of him. But there was little on which to base a belief in them, and Kate speedily made up her mind that whatever the people of Kentonville might say of him, it would take more than their words to con-vince her that this man was a black sheep. Presently Philip spoke: “I wish you would tell me about—about—it.” Gently, and softening the truth as much as possible, Kate soon put him in possession of the main facts connect-ed with the death of Aunt Sallie. The first effects of the shock had spent their force, but as she spoke she saw him cringe from time to time, as if from a blow, and her voice faltered. She abhorred the giving of pain, even when unavoidable, and as she saw him Shrink when her words touched the raw, she almost hated 9

a quiet way managed everything. But all the while she was conscious that the old doctor’s attitude had been that of deep concern for her as well as of sympathy on account of this great sorrow. That note surely contained some har-binger of ill to her—something that was going to affect her life in the days to come. Vaguely she wondered who it was, that the old doctor had hoped was dead. And now in the very lack of questioning from a few of the friends, she felt the same deep solicitude for herself. From whom could the note have come and must she read it? Far into the night these same questions, interwoven with her deep grief, tormented her and sleep did not come until the early morning hours. When she awakened a new courage came to her and she arose determined to forget the note, which she had carefully locked in the drawer, until all necessary ar-rangements had been made for her aunt’s burial. Sadly, but serenely she received all callers, made all the plans and attended to the many little details, for there was no other relative to even consult. The villagers were very thoughtful in their love and sympathy and Kate reaped a little reward for the kindness she had sowed in their hearts. The day of the funeral, Mrs. Perkins, a lonely widow, came and begged that she might remain with Kate for a while in the desolate old house. Kate was thankful to have someone there with her until she could make some defi-nite plans for the future. Seeking the solitude of her own room that first evening after the burial, after friends and neighbors had gone to their own cheery homes and when it seemed that no one was left here in the whole world, she took the note from the dresser drawer determined to know the worst. Again she had to fight the same old

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question concerning her right to know the secrets of the kind aunt who was gone, but she had to know before she could make any plans. Finally she resolved that whatever the contents might be, she would always remember to keep kindliness in her heart toward the aunt who had giv-en her a home and toward the poor unfortunate who had been counted with the dead. A big wave of love for all hu-manity swept over her and with a steady hand she unfold-ed the note and read:

Kenyon City, Haverland, Australia, Sept. 3, 19—.

Dear Sister Sally: Kentonville, in all its narrow hatred may not wel-come its former scapegoat, but perhaps these fifteen years of absence and oblivion may have softened an older sis-ter’s heart. I am coming home soon—be prepared to see again your disgraced brother.

Phil Raymond. Trembling from head to foot Kate sank down upon her bed. She had never heard that Aunt Sally had a young-er brother. She wondered about the crime he had com-mitted which had driven him from home and loved ones. This note sounded as if he might be very bitter against the world, a sort of reckless determination to face his disgrace could be read between the lines. The news of his coming had been shock enough to kill his sister and Kate realized, for the first time, a reason for her aunt’s sharp tongue and critical attitude toward everyone. No will had been left and this disgraced brother would be heir to everything Aunt Sally had left, including the roof over her head. For a long time she sat meditating upon her unusual past life and wondering what the future 15

Raymond stared and stared at her. Her last words had for the moment driven even his great grief from his mind, mercifully. “Who are you?” he demanded. “I am Katherine Marvin, my father was Robert Marvin,” she answered. “Oh, then you are my grand niece.” “Yes.” He looked at her gloomily for a moment. Then he laughed harshly. “I suppose you have anything but a good opinion of your uncle.” His voice arose fiercely, “God knows, I have never knowingly wronged man or woman, but from the time I was a little child, it has been my misfortune to do the wrong thing at the wrong time. It has always seemed as if some malignant fate continually dogged my footsteps urging me as from one blunder to another. I have tried, as a man has seldom tried, to do right. I think my sister un-derstood, for she always defended me. She was the only friend I had in the world, and now she is gone and I—God help me! - I have killer her.” He hid his face again and groaned in bitterness of spirit. Kate grasped him firmly by the arm and half led, half forced him across the room to the large old arm chair which had been Aunt Sally’s. She favored Mrs. Perkins with a significant glance as she passed her, and that lady promptly sat down. Kate’s brow contracted into something as nearly resembling a frown as was possible to her sunny countenance. She had intended the look as a hint for Mrs. Perkins to leave the room. Perhaps Mrs. Perkins did not understand; perhaps

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“A month ago last Tuesday,” Kate replied. “Did she receive my letter?” Kate hesitated before replying. She feared the next question. “Yes,” she finally responded. Her manner of answering aroused his suspicion. A nameless fear gripped his heart. “When—when did she receive it?” He leaned forward to receive her answer, his face tense and set, his nails digging into his palms. Kate’s fears were realized. This was what she dread-ed. “A short time before she died,” she answered eva-sively. “How long?” His tone was that of a lawyer cross ex-amining an unwilling witness. Kate realized that further evasion was useless. “Anyway,” she thought, “he must know sometime, and better have it over and done.” So she met his stare bravely and answered as steadily as she could: “She received it the day she died.” His tense muscles relaxed suddenly, and he stag-gered against the wall for support. “Oh my God!” he groaned, “I’ve killed her!” Kate could endure it no longer. Stepping quickly over to him, she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “You must not say that,” she said soothingly. “You did not know. She was old and her heart was weak. She believed you dead, and if the shock of learning that you were alive and well was too much for her, surely no just person can blame you for her death. O Uncle Philip, I am so sorry, but please, please do not condemn yourself for what you could not avoid.” 11

could hold for her. How was she to meet this unexpected turn of affairs? How strange that in the very last hour of her life Aunt Sally had told Kate that she was really of some value to others. But it was not like her to think only of herself for any length of time. Her thoughts turned to this wanderer brother and pity and sympathy toward him filled her heart. What a shock it would be to him to return and find his sis-ter so recently dead and a strange girl in the home. She reasoned that it would be best for her to remain there and keep everything in readiness for the new heir, no matter what his crime or how deep his disgrace. She would stay to tell him of his sister’s death and to try to comfort him a little, if it were possible. Day after day she watched for the wanderer. Oftimes she wondered if he would resent her being there—she wondered if he would be old and broken with dissipation– perhaps he would be morbid and bitter and—a cold fear clutched her heart—would he object to her Khaki suit and insist on knowing why she wore it? But at this thought her lips tightened and a look of determination came over her sweet face. This was a secret which she had jealously guarded even from her Aunt Sally, much as she loved her and wished to please her. Then with a pa-thetic little smile Kate reflected that this, no doubt, was useless worry for her, as this strange uncle of hers would probably not wish her in his home and what she did and wore would be of little concern to him. One evening as she and Mrs. Perkins sat by the fire with their sewing—a man’s footsteps paused at the gate, then slowly came up the path to the door. A knock—and Khaki Kate’s heart stood still—surely this must be he. With swift steps and eager smile she opened the door wide and

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looked straight into the honest grey eyes of Philip Ray-mond.

CHAPTER 3

Kate’s smile of welcome gave way to an expression of amazement, and the studied words of greeting which she had rehearsed over and over again were forgotten. She felt all her preconceived impressions of her uncle, based on the letter and the rather cryptic remark of Dr. Scott, slipping from her, leaving her thoughts in a some-what chaotic condition. A gasp of astonishment escaped her and she stared at him as if she were upon a ghost. But if Kate was surprised, Philip was no less so at the vision which the opening of the door revealed to him. Far different from the familiar half bent figure, with its snowy locks and sunken, wrinkled cheeks was this fresh young face and slender khaki-clad form. Suddenly Kate’s wandering senses returned and her cheeks burned at her want of courtesy. Stepping back, she opened the door widely. “Will you come in?” she asked. As she spoke, the absurdity of asking a man to enter his own home occurred to her and brought the smile back to her face. Philip bowed and stepped across the threshold and shot a swift, inquiring glance about the room. A faint shadow of disappointment flitted over his face and his keen grey eyes once more sought Kate’s questioningly. Kate strove to answer the unspoken query, but her courage failed. A lump seemed suddenly to have gathered in her throat. Her eyes filled. A premonition of evil seized hold of Philip. “Where is she?”

13

To Kate his tone seemed almost menacing. Mrs. Perkins had risen to her feet and, torn by fear and curiosity, stood watching the little tragedy unfolding before her eyes. “She is—,” Kate began tremulously, then paused, while two great tears leaped down her cheeks. He understood and reeled as if she had struck him in the face. “My God!” he cried in a strained voice, “ you don’t mean—,” Kate bowed her head and a sob escaped her. He drew his arm across his eyes. “Dead!” he whispered brokenly, as if to himself; then again, as if striving to convince himself of the dread of reality, “Dead!” For a moment no sound broke the silence save the slow measured ticking of the grandfather’s clock against the wall. Then Philip dropped his arm and looked at Kate, and the grief and horror in his staring eyes smote her to the heart. Kate’s first instinct was to go to him and comfort him as she would a child in distress. But something held her back. Perhaps it was the thought that though thousands of miles away and entirely innocent of wrong intent as he had been, he had slain the good old woman as surely as though he had sent a bullet through her heart. For probably the first time in her life, Kate felt help-less in the face of an emergency. She could only stand and look her pity. Philip moistened his dry lips and spoke in a voice which he scarcely recognized as his own: “When did this happen?”